


Gimme Them Coins

by tersicore



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, BDSM, Casual Sex, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femdom, Lingerie, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pegging, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Shower Sex, Sugar Daddy, reader's kind of a dick at the start (justifiably - but still a dick)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:22:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tersicore/pseuds/tersicore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You never thought the day you'd meet the rude and egotistical Dr. Chilton was also the day you'd acquire an attractive and powerful sugar daddy.</p><p>Life's funny that way, you suppose.</p><p>(Chapters 1-3 edited.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME THAT THE THOUGHT OF SUGAR DADDY!CHILTON NEVER CROSSED YOUR MIND. I REFUSE TO BELIEVE IT.
> 
> Also, I wasn't able to beta/edit this before posting, so I apologize for any errors. /sweats nervously
> 
> Have some [mood music](http://8tracks.com/roarofthemanticore/gimme-them-coins) while you're at it.
> 
> Edited: fixed typos, added character insight, added scene, altered pacing for continuous flow.

You'd remember the day you met Frederick Chilton for the rest of your life.

It all started on the night of the DalÍ Museum's grand opening. Your brother had begged you to accompany him enough for you to finally give in the night before.

"You're lucky it's DalÍ, otherwise I wouldn't bother," you scoffed through the phone. Your brother either didn't hear you or didn't care for he went right into a slew of thank you's afterwards.

The next evening you spent browsing through your dresses, trying to find something elegant enough that didn't scream "poor college student". You were annoyed at your brother for guilt tripping you into joining him when you had a thesis and two more research papers to complete. And knowing your brother, he'd want to stay until the very end of the evening.

You sighed and finally decided on a dark red one-shoulder gown you had bought years ago for your high school graduation. You had liked it enough to bring with you; its color went well against your skin and it was tight enough to both flatter your curves and not carry the risk of being too promiscuous. The hemline went down to your knees, where you were able to show off your calves and black heels. You finished with grabbing a black clutch to check your final product in the mirror.

You had done your hair and makeup earlier, electing a light shimmering gold for your eyes and a red wine for your lips. Your hair you did in waves, and you felt proud at the way it brought the entire outfit together. Turning slightly, you stared at the curve of your ass and grinned.

 _Oh, yes,_ you thought. _Proud indeed._

You snapped out of your thoughts at the sound of a car horn blaring loudly. With a roll of your eyes, you made sure everything you needed was in your purse before heading out to your brother's car.

"You just couldn't come up to my door and escort me down like a proper gentleman, could you?" you sighed dramatically as you slipped into your brother's Bentley.

"Holy shit," your brother gaped at your appearance. "Are you expecting to get laid? At _my_ event?"

You retorted by punching him in the arm. "Just shut up and drive, Jason."

He chuckled while pulling out onto the street, sneaking the occasional glance at your figure. "Seriously, though. Who are you hoping to meet at this thing?"

It was natural for your brother to worry about you tonight of all nights. This was his first event as a major benefactor — thanks to your father's inheritance, of course. It would have been unnatural for him not to be nervous.

"Oh, I don't know," you hummed. "Maybe I'll get myself a sugar daddy and actually have some money for once?"

Jason winced but  kept his eyes on the road. "You know I tried everything to get dad to rethink his will. I never in a million years thought he'd pick me over you."

"Why? Because you're adopted while I'm his flesh and blood?" — cue another wince from your brother — "He always loved you more than me. It's why he adopted you in the first place." You shrugged indifferently. "I'm sure in his mind, you were his real son while I was just some brat that reminded him of mom."

"That's not-" Jason started before shutting his mouth. The sad truth was that it probably was what your father thought before he died. Ever since your mother passed away when you were a child, when it was just you and your father, he couldn't stand to even look at you. He'd eat dinners in his office while you'd eat in your room, watching movies and TV shows that your mother would gasp dramatically at if she had caught you watching while alive.

It wasn't until a local orphanage paid a visit to your home — the employees telling the children in a disgusting voice filled with manipulation: "This is what you could have for the rest of your life if you act properly at the house!" — that your father finally stepped out of his office. It wouldn't have been an exaggeration to say that you hadn't seem him in months, and you were visibly shocked at his appearance. Where your father had always been chubby, especially around the face and middle, he was now sickly thin. The skin on his cheeks hung and there were dark circles beneath dull eyes. His skin had a gross yellow tint to it, and you remembered thinking that a child should never be repulsed by their father; yet there you were, disgusted and horrified at the sight of your once-caring parent.

His voice when he addressed the children was the same, however, if anything slightly colder than you remembered. Your father had taken an instant liking to one of the older children, a Japanese-American boy whose name you learned in passing was Jason. He asked the boy about the education he received at the orphanage, and he shyly admitted that, although it wasn't the best, he received the highest scores out of those in his age-group and higher. Impressed, your father asked him what he knew about funding and stocks and many other things your young mind couldn't comprehend, and it was your turn to be impressed when Jason answered everything back correctly (or so you assumed by the pleased hum your father gave).

The next day, your father had filled out all the necessary paperwork and the day after that, Jason moved in, turning your family of two into a family of three.

Jason's charm didn't work solely on your father, however. Within a few moments of meeting him, you already loved your new brother and refused to be away from him for any long period of time. He was twelve while you were seven, but even then you'd hold his hand and tell him you'd marry him when you grew up. He'd laugh and pat your head, used to receiving such declarations from all the younger children at the orphanage. Whenever you couldn't sleep, you'd timidly approach the room across from yours, and before you’d even raise your fist to knock, he'd answer the door and let you in, as if sensing your discomfort. He'd tuck you in his bed and read you stories just like your mother used to and you'd fall asleep pressed against his side.

Jason was your first friend after your mother died, and you owed him the world for it. You would do anything for him, hence why you were currently riding in the car him rather than finishing all your homework.

"We're here," Jason said as he stopped before the valet, pulling you back from your memories. The valet opened your door and you grabbed your clutch and stepped out. You waited for Jason to hand him the keys and move towards you before pulling him into a hug that almost sent him tumbling.

"Hey!" He gripped your arms and righted his footing so neither of you fell. "What was that for?"

"That," you tightened your arms around him, nuzzling your face into his chest, "is for being my brother."

You lifted your gaze to see Jason wide-eyed and momentarily stunned before smiling warmly at you and petting your head, exactly how he used to when you were little. "That's what I'm here for, kiddo. Just make sure to be on your best behavior tonight."

"Hey," you argued, squirming when he poked your side, "I'm always on my best behavior!"

Jason laughed. "Yeah, sure. Try telling that to someone who _doesn't_ know you better than you know yourself."

You stuck your tongue out at him in response, and he only laughed harder.

"Come on," he presented his arm to you, the occasional chuckle still spilling from his lips.

You linked arms and walked to the entrance, pursing your lips in thought. "So, do you know who exactly is going to be here? I mean, I doubt I'd know anyone but...."

Jason hummed, flashing your invitations to the guard before he waved the two of you in. "I'm not entirely sure. I know Dr. Chilton was sent an invite, but after what happened to him he generally stopped attending these things. Other than that, I didn't see anyone's name who I was really familiar with."

“Dr. Chilton?” You repeated.

“The head of the State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. He had some kind of accident with a patient of his a few weeks ago. Didn’t you read it on the Tattler?”

“No, I don’t read the Tattler.” You replied distractedly. "What kind of accident was it?" _Dr. Chilton_...the name seemed to ring a bell somewhere in your head, but you couldn't be certain.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

Both you and Jason turned around fast enough to give yourselves whiplash. Behind you, standing in an intimidating posture with a cane in his hand, was a visibly annoyed man. He wore a black three-piece suit with a white shirt, and his green eyes were narrowed at you. You spotted a tick in his beard-covered jaw, and the only thing you could think was, _Dear god, don't let this be Dr. Chilton._

"Oh," Jason started. "Dr. Chilton!"

 _Fuck me,_ you instantly winced.

"What a surprise," your brother smiled awkwardly, clearly trying (and failing) to lessen the tense atmosphere. "I didn't think you'd make it tonight."

"Clearly," Chilton seethed, still glaring at you. "It's very rude to talk about others when they're not present, you know. Even more rude when the person you're gossiping about is right behind you."

Jason blushed. "I apologize, Dr. Chilton. Truly. It's my sister, sir—she just asked me if anyone I'd recognize would be present tonight."

"Your sister?" You hadn't thought it possible, but Chilton's eyes narrowed even further at you, and you discreetly kicked your brother in the shin for outing you.

"Yes, sir," you bowed your head, ignoring Jason's little hiss of pain. "I was just curious."

"Umm-hmm. Are you still curious?"

You furrowed your brows, and Jason ceased his whimpering to stare suspiciously at the doctor. "Sir?"

"About what my patient did to me," he clarified. "Are you still curious?"

Suddenly, you felt very uncomfortable in this situation. "Actually, now that I think about it, I’m completely content not-"

"He drugged me, see," he said, his cane hitting the floor with a loud _whack_ as he moved towards you. You retreated back with each of his steps. "He drugged me and took me to this large observatory. There, he had set up a mock operation room — he used to be a surgeon before he murdered his entire family and was taken to my hospital. Anyway, he placed me on a table and, using only local anesthesia, started cutting open my abdomen. He removed many organs, said they were 'unnecessary.' When he finally took his hands out of my stomach, he literally left me with my guts in my hands before traipsing off into the night. The only reason I didn't die there was because he forced a reporter to watch the entire thing and then left her with a respirator to keep me alive.

"So, tell me— _are you still curious?_ " He spat each syllable, and you finally backed into a wall where you stood beyond-shocked at his words. His face was mere centimeters from your own, you could feel his breath hit your cheeks, and you felt like a scared and lonely child all over again. Your eyes stung with unshed tears as they locked with his, and your reaction was enough to make him realize what he had done.

In the blink of an eye, his personality completely shifted. Chilton hurriedly stepped back from you, hand fumbling with his cane and eyes darting to the tiled floor. In contrast to how he appeared a mere few seconds ago — large and imposing and enough to make you want to cry — he now seemed small and pitiful.

He coughed into his unoccupied hand and hurriedly left, mumbling "Excuse me" when his shoulder knocked against yours.

You were unsure how long you stood there, visibly shaken and eyes glued to where Chilton had run off. You typically avoided any form of confrontation whenever possible, and this experience reminded you why you did. As a child, you had the tendency of crying whenever you were frightened or shaken, and that proved to be true even now as, much to your embarrassment, you felt large tears slide down your face and fall on your chest. Your brother, finally getting over his own shock at Chilton's inappropriate actions, quickly ran to your side.

"Hey," Jason quietly called your name, hands gripping your arms in an effort to ground you. "Hey, c’mon, look at me."

You did as told, finally tearing your eyes away from the direction in which Chilton disappeared to. Your brother's gentle tone only made you tear up more, if possible. "I-I didn't mean...I didn't think...."

"Hey, it's okay." Strong arms enveloped you in a warm embrace and you buried your face into the front of his black tux. You absolutely refused to let these people see you cry, but nothing could be done to hide the tremors that coursed through your body. "Shh, it's okay," Jason patted the top of your head. "It's okay."

You stayed that way for a while, until a museum attendant approached you telling your brother it was time to announce his appearance. He was hesitant to leave you at first, but you convinced him otherwise.

"Are you sure?" His brows furrowed. "I don't want to leave you alone. What if you run into that dick again?"

"It’s okay. I'm good now. Mostly.” You added with a smile, hoping to make him laugh so he’d know you were alright.

The crease between his brows only deepened.

“Really, Jason, I’m fine. I’m just going to head to the bathroom to make sure I look okay. I'll join up with you later."

Before he could make another argument, you turned on your heel and marched off to the restroom. On the way there, you opened your clutch and pulled out your powder, checking yourself in the small mirror to make sure you didn’t look like a black-and-white movie monster. Your mascara and eyeliner was fine, and so was the rest of your makeup (you mentally praised whoever first came up with waterproof makeup). The only indication that you had spend time crying was the redness of your eyes, and that could easily be passed off as an allergy symptom.

You stowed the powder back in your bag and breathed a small sigh. Now that you didn’t have to worry about your appearance, you decided to take your time and look at the paintings en route to the restroom. You passed a few of DalÍ’s works — _The First Days of Spring, The Lugubrious Game, The Great Masturbator_ — but it wasn’t until you came across _Un Chien Andalou_ that you came to a stop. You had seen the movie still before in a magazine, but seeing the large and exposed eye staring back at you in full height was much more jarring than seeing a small scale. The iris almost seemed to follow you whichever way you moved, and the knowledge that in the original movie that very eye was cut in half by a razor in the very next scene only served to send a cold chill down your spine.

Feeling you were sufficiently creeped out — and additionally spending no more thoughts on Chilton — you turned the corner that lead to the restroom, only to stop in your tracks. The women's room had a line of at least twenty other women, and that wasn't considering those who were probably waiting inside. You sighed, feeling the tell-tale sign of a headache forming in your temples.

 _Figures_ , you thought, already turning around to make your way back to Jason. Or rather, you would have turned around to make your way back to Jason had it not been for the family restroom you saw on the opposite wall. A bit shocked at seeing no line, you headed straight for the door before anyone else could beat you to it.

Not even bothering to knock, you turned the handle and stepped into the bathroom with a smug smile on your face at having outsmarted everyone in line. But the moment you looked up, you gasped at the sight of the last person you would have ever wanted to run into.

"Oh god, Dr. Chilton!" You cried, averting your eyes from the sight of him dabbing at his shirt with a wet towel — your first thought was horrifying in that you assumed his wound had reopened and was now staining the fabric with blood — only to see no evidence of any substance anywhere. "I'm so, so sorry! I-I'll just leave...quickly-"

"No, no, please!" Chilton hastily threw the towel into the wastebasket before turning to you, still avoiding your gaze. "Please feel free. I just—I ran into a waiter—and—well—the champagne—and my shirt—it doesn't matter. I'll...wear my jacket."

Whereas before you were ready to throw yourself out the window if it meant leaving the doctor's presence, you couldn't help but stare as he continued to awkwardly explain to you his situation. The way he floundered desperately for an explanation...almost made him seem human. Almost.

"Did you try hot water?" You blurted before you could stop yourself. Wait, what? Why were you helping him? Wasn't this the man who a few minutes ago had accosted you, a complete stranger, to the point of tears?

“What?” Chilton apparently was also stumped by your suggestion, having thought the same exact thing.

"Hot water," you continued, despite the logical part of you that wanted to wring your neck for talking. "Hot water and a bit of soap will get it out. Only if it's before the stain sets, though. Here." That same part of you that wanted to previously wring your neck was now staring slack-jawed as you grabbed a clean towel and applied some soap to it, turning the hot water on all the way before wetting a small corner.

"Alright. Come here." You motioned for Chilton to stand beside you, only for you to roll your eyes when he made absolutely no move to. "I'm not going to bite your head off. Christ."

"I feel as if that would be much less suspicious than what you are currently doing." Despite his words, he slowly shuffled his way over to you, the hand that held his cane gripped tight enough for the knuckles to turn white.

"'Less suspicious?' Jesus, Chilton, I'm not going to get revenge on you just because you acted like a dick."

He visibly bristled at your comment, and you were strongly reminded of an angered cat or porcupine. Then again, with the suit he looked more like a penguin than anything. The thought of Chilton honking was enough to make you smirk.

His expression melted into a wince as soon as you pressed the towel against his abdomen, where you assumed the spill had been. Instantly, you drew back your hand, gauging his reaction with wide eyes.

"I'm so sorry!" You said, thinking of his scar. "Was that too much pressure?"

Chilton took a moment to compose himself before turning his head away from you. "No, it's just-" wait, was he actually blushing? "It's just odd to have someone—touch me...there."

"Oh." You blushed, focusing your attention on his shirt to avoid accidentally glancing at him. "Um. Okay."

You sounded so ridiculous you wanted to slap yourself.

Continuing to avoid his gaze, you rubbed gently at the fabric, not missing the way Chilton's breath caught in his throat each time or the way his arms stayed rigidly by his side. You debated asking him to simply remove his shirt until you realized that would make the situation even more awkward than it already was.

Tense silence filled the space between you, neither sure what to say or how to say it. After a long moment, you opened your mouth to speak until Chilton beat you to it.

"I—uh—I wanted to apologize. For my earlier behavior." He shifted his stance, his eyes stubbornly fixed on a spot on the wall behind you. "It was rude of me to...confront you like that."

You worried your bottom lip, your hands unceasing in their efforts in hopes to finish the task and run away from the conversation. "It's fine," you mumbled, re-wetting the towel with hot water. "You were right—it was rude of me to gossip."

"You weren't gossiping," he shook his head, finally directing his gaze at you. "You were-"

"Curious?" You grinned, locking gazes with the doctor.

He chuckled, a shy grin complimenting the light blush on his face. "Yes, it would seem so."

The grin still on your face, you surveyed your work and deemed the shirt clean (albeit incredibly wet). Stepping back from Chilton, you threw the used towel into the wastebasket and moved to wash your hands.

"Um," you looked up to see Chilton buttoning up his jacket to hide the water stain. "Would you—I mean—would you care to join me at my home afterwards?"

When you turned furiously to glare at him, soapy hands drenching the floor and lips turned down in a fierce scowl, he immediately backtracked.

"Oh, no, no, no....I—I didn't mean like _that!_ " Chilton gasped out, face set into a mask of horror as he held his hands out in front of him.

"Oh, really?" You cocked an eyebrow and turned back to rinse off your hands.

"I...I only meant it as compensation. For drinks. Nothing else."

You lifted your gaze to stare at him in the reflection, contemplating his seemingly-sincere expression and hair and suit and-

Holy shit. Was that a _real_ gold pin?

Drying your hands on another towel, you turned back to face him, brow furrowed as you debated whether to accept his offer or not. He seemed to genuinely want to make up for his earlier actions — he did apologize, after all, no matter how awkwardly. And yet….

Your eyes slowly gravitated back to the pin. At the start of the night you had jokingly said that you hoped to find a sugar daddy — what with all the student loans you had, and only a part-time job at your university’s bookstore to help you with rent and food, a sugar daddy would be heaven-sent. But you had never seriously considered it.

Until that moment, that is.

And even if in the end there was absolutely no possibility of turning “Dr. Chilton” into “Daddy,” at the very least there was always the chance of getting him into bed — a very strong chance, if the way you saw him staring at your ass through the mirror was any indication.

"Alright," you finally said, grinning when you noticed his body sag in relief. "Should I leave with you, or...?"

"Whichever is easiest for you." Chilton seemed to be in good spirits once he saw that you wouldn't reject him, as that goofy smile still pulled at his lips. His compliance made your grin grow all the more.

"In that case," you tore off a piece of paper from the notepad you had placed in your clutch and wrote down your number and address, "here."

You pressed the note into his hand and felt a rush of heat when you noticed just how large they were. You purposefully dragged your nails lightly against his palm as you drew back, and you almost blushed at the barely audible whimper that originated in the back of his throat.

You were so glad you took Chilton up on his invitation.

With a final grin you hoped was as alluring as you thought, you brushed past the doctor to head towards the door.

"W-wait!" Chilton's voice halted you in your exit, and you turned your head to look back at him. "I...I never got your name."

You gave him your name, grinning as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, and you nodded when he repeated your full name back to you to clarify — your surname, you assumed, he got from your brother’s name printed in script on the gala’s invitation.

He returned your smile, and the relief on his face that you didn’t reject him was almost pathetic. "I'm Frederick. Dr. Frederick Chilton."

Ah, so he was one of _those_ — a pretentious educated man who never missed the opportunity to remind others of his title. But still, he was attractive (and clearly insanely rich) and you wanted to get laid, so you had a part to play. So you hummed and acted as if you found his name attractive, and you curled your painted lips into a teasing grin for good measure. "I'll see you tonight, Dr. Frederick Chilton."

And with a final glance (you saw his breath hitch at the use of his title and you held back the desire to roll your eyes) you pulled open the door and stepped back out into the gallery, the tips of your fingers tingling at the possibilities of tonight.

Perhaps this night hadn’t been a waste of time after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally make it to Chilton's lavish home, and he's acting a bit differently than you would have imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is seven pages oh my god. This is seven pages going on eight oh my g o d.  
> Why do I write so much.  
> This chapter took a bit longer due to my computer shutting down and erasing all the progress I did. So I had to rewrite everything. :'D  
> I hate my life.  
> ~Enjoy!~
> 
> Edit: corrected continuity errors, fixed typos, added character insight

It was safe to say that the rest of the night was a complete and utter bore.

After your and Chilton’s rendezvous in the bathroom — which, you noted dryly, sounded much more exciting than it actually was — you spent the night beside your brother as he spoke and mingled with multiple rich/snobby attendees. Chilton made no attempt to approach you the rest of the night, and it was lucky for him that he didn’t. Jason still referred to him as “that prick” and glared heatedly at him whenever the doctor so much as happened to pass by.

Your self-esteem did take a turn for the worse, however, as wherever you went you felt the sneers of trophy wives and high-classed women. As if regardless of how much effort you put into your appearance to blend in for the night, they still managed to sniff out the penniless. You tried picturing them as hyenas sniffing out a rotting corpse but, regardless of how amusing the mental image was, it did little to soothe your bruised ego.

Seeking solace in the blessed complimentary alcohol, you sipped at your champagne and made small-talk with those few patrons who were at the very least tolerable — and, in the case of one Hannibal Lecter, actually amusing and enjoyable. He had kissed your hand when you introduced yourself and you couldn’t help the light giggle that bubbled from your pleasantly buzzed lips. The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement and you remembered thinking that, aside from Chilton, Hannibal was the most attractive man of the night. He flirted with you for a bit, and you contemplated going home with him instead when an attractive woman walked up and linked her arm with his. Despite not knowing whether this woman was or was not his date, you didn’t care enough to make the effort to find out so, after a few moments of standing awkwardly while the two conversed, you politely bid your farewell and walked off to rejoin Jason.

On your way there, you passed a waiter carrying another tray filled with champagne and you were about to grab a flute when a large hand gripped your wrist tightly. As the waiter and your claimed booze walked off, you turned to glare at the individual who dared get in your way of drinking only to come face-to-face with a pair of unamused brown eyes.

Your glare immediately dissipated with a groan. “Jason.”

“Pretty sure you’ve had enough there, sis,” he grinned, clearly enjoying himself.

“Excuse me? I’ll have you know I only had four glasses of champagne this evening,” you sniffed.

He snorted. “ _Only?_ ”

“Hey, four glasses is not that much, lightweight!”

“Whoa, alright,” he chuckled. “Let me see you walk in a straight line, then. We’ll see if you can have some more afterwards.”

You rolled your eyes, completely offended that your brother thought you were drunk when you were only slightly buzzed _at most_.

But you really wanted that other drink, so walk in a straight line it was. Pride be damned.

Straightening your back, you made a show of exaggeratedly extending your arms by your side before you slowly started to walk in a line, one foot directly in front of the other. You raised your eyebrows at your brother in challenge as you passed him, and you were about to finish with a loud “Ha!” until your heel got caught on the edge of a tile.

 _SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT!_ You panicked at your loss of balance and flailed your arms to refrain from falling flat on your face and making even more of an embarrassment out of yourself. You slapped your hands against the wall and glared daggers at Jason when you heard him wheezing with laughter.

“Oh god! I—I didn’t actually think you were drunk!” He clutched at his side and howled with laughter, causing a few attendees to stare questionably at him.

Growling, you made your way over to your obnoxious brother and punched him in the arm. “You’re such an asshole!”

Jason paid you no heed as he tried to regain control of himself, making a show of wiping his eyes once he had calmed. “Man, what a riot.”

“I hate you,” you frowned.

“Of course you do,” he ruffled your hair and only laughed when you let out an annoyed growl. “Come on, we should be leaving.”

“What? So soon?” You tilted your head as you read the clock above the doorway, following him to the exit. “Don’t you usually stay late at these things?”

“Usually, but I got a call from my lawyer saying he wants to meet with me tomorrow morning. Until I get everything done and all the papers ready, it’ll be three in the morning and I’ll be exhausted tomorrow.”

“Wait, _lawyer?_ ” You blinked. “What are you meeting with your lawyer for? Jason, are you in trouble?”

“Hmm?” He turned his gaze to you and smiled. “Oh, it’s nothing. He just wants to make sure everything’s in order and up to date.”

You frowned when he waved you off, not believing his excuse for a second. Just as you were about to tell him to cut the crap, you caught sight of Chilton staring at you from over your brother’s shoulder. Making sure Jason’s attention was still directed to where he was going, you nodded to Chilton and mouthed at him ‘ten minutes.’ His nod let you know that he understood, and you almost laughed when he eagerly downed his entire glass. With one last look, you followed Jason out the door and to his car.

As you buckled yourself in and waited for Jason, you calculated that ten minutes was more than enough time for your brother to drop you off, say goodbye, and leave — all before Chilton arrived at your apartment.

The ride to your complex passed mostly in silence, with Jason concentrating on his driving (and possibly his business with his lawyer) and you silently fretting over your brother. Just as you had been about to question him once more, he reached over and switched the radio on. Your lips narrowed into a thin line and you turned your attention to the window.

You shivered at the radio announcer’s weather forecast of snow being a high probability, and regretted not bringing your jacket.

 

* * *

 

Once you made it to your apartment, you kissed your brother on the cheek in farewell and frowned at the crease between his eyebrows. Instead of mentioning it, however, the very persuasive part of you that wanted to get laid reminded you that Chilton would be arriving in five minutes and your brother needed to be long gone before then. So you smiled and got out, and waved as you saw his headlights disappear before quickly running to the warm shelter of your apartment.

You had just seconds ago walked through your door, only able to briefly glance at your phone to see Chilton had sent you a text ten minutes ago saying that he was on his way, when you saw a pair of headlights shine through your windows. Sure enough, your phone’s screen lit up and announced a new text signaling his arrival. You almost told him to come up so that he didn’t have to wait in his car until you noticed the mess: trash can filled with takeout containers, shoes thrown across the floor, stockings hung haphazardly off the couch, jewelry scattered across every table. You winced and sent him a quick “be right out,” as you grabbed a white coat and braced yourself for the cold that would undoubtedly assault you once you opened the door.

You spotted what you could only assume was Chilton’s car — a small red car with its engine still running — and you made your way towards it as you slipped your coat on. You were thankful that your door locks itself automatically so that you didn’t have to spend more time in the cold dallying with the keys. Once you got close enough, you were able to see Chilton sitting in the driver’s seat, his hands continuously loosening and tightening his tie in an almost nervous-like tick. You watched him jump when you opened the passenger-side door and smiled at him when he swiveled his head to stare at you with wide eyes. Careful of your dress, you smoothly slid into the seat and shut the door before turning towards him with another grin.

“Thank you for coming to get me, Dr. Chilton.” You crossed your leg and felt your dress start to ride higher up on your thigh, baring much more flesh to Chilton’s gaze as his eyes glued themselves to your newly exposed skin. You had to refrain from smirking outright. “I know it was much more of a hassle to drive all the way here than to simply drive from the museum.”

His eyes hastily locked with yours, face reddening at his obvious gawking. “No, no—not at all.” He cleared his throat and averted his gaze. “It’s the least I could do after my... _outburst_.”

“Hey, it’s no big deal. It was a shock at first, but honestly? Now I just keep thinking how that was one hell of a first impression.”

“Yes, I suppose it was very memorable,” Chilton laughed softly, still not meeting your gaze.

A brief lapse of silence passed in which you stared at Chilton and he stared at his lap. You were able to freely examine all of his pleasing features you noticed in the museum bathroom — his neatly combed hair and defined nose, big eyes that were a lovely shade of green, the curves of his lips and the way the muscles in his neck worked as he gulped. You noticed the clear signs of his wealth, too — the gold tie pin and silver ring, his elegant if slightly pretentious suit, the highly luxurious interior of his car.

When you were finally satisfied and noticed that Chilton still hadn’t moved from his position, you touched his shoulder only to have him jump and stare at you with wide, fearful eyes. You instantly let go, confused by his reaction.

“Sorry,” you smiled soothingly, hoping it would relax him. “But are we gonna stay in the parking lot forever or…?”

That seemed to kick Chilton into gear for he hurriedly put the car in reverse and placed his hands on the steering wheel. “Sorry,” he blurted out, face reddening. “Luckily it’s not that far of a drive.”

“Yeah?” He pulled onto the street and you were thankful that you didn’t have to fish for conversation topics to fill the awkward silence. “How far are you?”

“About fifteen minutes east.” He licked his lips and his grip on the wheel was tight enough that his knuckles whitened. Was he nervous?

“Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”

He visibly relaxed at your question, shoulders dropping and his grip on the wheel loosening to a normal degree. “Please, help yourself.”

 _Maybe he’s not a fan of car conversations,_ you mused, browsing through the channels. You found one currently going over the weather forecast for the week and left it there. Once more looking out the window, you now saw brewing storm clouds illuminated by the street lights.

 _Of all the days to wear a dress,_ you huffed.

Not even ten minutes had passed before you realized you were pulling into a long pebbled driveway. Once the car came to a stop, your jaw dropped at the house that stood before you.

“You...live here?” You blinked, taking in the spotlessly white architecture of the building. The stark contrast with the darkness of the night almost made it seem as if it glowed.

“Yes,” Chilton replied as he parked in front of the steps leading up to the doorway, though his voice wobbled near the end and made it sound more like a question than an answer. “Is there a problem?”

You tore your eyes away from his home to look back at him. “Oh, no! Not at all! It’s just...it’s very beautiful.”

For the first time in the entire night, you saw Chilton visibly transform from awkward to prideful as he stuck out his chest and lifted his chin. Once more you were reminded of a penguin. “Why, thank you.”

He stepped out from the car and you did the same, waiting until he retrieved his cane before following him into his home. Stepping inside, you saw that the inside of the house was very modern as you first came into a large circular foyer. Before you was a spiral staircase leading to the second floor. On each side of you, there were two rooms branching off. From where you were standing, you could see a grand piano peeking out of the room to your right.

You felt Chilton’s hand on your shoulders and assisted him in sliding off your jacket. You nodded to the room with the piano as he walked to the coat closet. “Do you play?” You smiled. You always wanted to learn how to play the piano. Your father never allowed it, saying the loud noise gave him migraines.

“Mm?” Chilton glanced briefly at the room before hanging your coat. “Oh, no I do not.”

You furrowed your brows and glanced back at him. What? He had a piano...but never played it?

He completely missed your look as he walked off to the room on your left. “Please, follow me.”

Still finding it odd, you followed Chilton into an open kitchen with impressive built-in pantries and a large island to prep food on. You admired the room with a soft smile; the last time you saw a kitchen this large was before you moved out of your childhood home. You remembered it as always being in use, whether by chefs to cook four-course meals or your brother to make the two of you peanut butter and nutella sandwiches.

“I didn’t peg you for a chef, Dr. Chilton,” you smiled at him teasingly, following him past the kitchen and immediately into a living room.

The answer he gave you left you even more confused. “That’s because I’m not.”

You stopped in your tracks and stared after him.

“Please have a seat,” he motioned to the couch as he continued walking to another staircase, this time going down. “I will retrieve us a bottle of wine.”

You stayed rooted in your spot until he disappeared from your sight, and only then did you sink down onto the leather seat. Distantly, you could hear the sounds of Chilton’s cane hitting the floor, and the sound of hissing cooler doors opening and closing.

“So...he has a piano he doesn’t play...and a kitchen he doesn’t use.” You had assumed saying it out loud would help you make more sense of the situation, but you found it sounded just as ludicrous as it did in your head. Why would a bachelor have such expensive utilities that he never used? It just didn’t make any sense….

_Unless it wasn’t Chilton that used them._

You furrowed your brows and tried to recall if Chilton ever said he was single. You realized with a start that you hadn’t actually asked if he was, and although he didn’t wear a wedding band that didn’t mean he wasn’t married or living with someone. There were plenty of married couples who didn’t wear wedding bands anymore. What if Chilton was one of them?

 _Oh god,_ your eyes widened in growing horror. Suddenly the large house, the kitchen, the piano — because he only said that he didn’t use them, not that they weren’t used at all — all made sense. What if Chilton did just invite you over for innocent drinks, and you were the one with sexual intentions? _Oh god, what am I doing here?_

You heard Chilton arrive before you saw him, the soft clack of his shoes against the tile contrasting with the sharp noise his cane emitted. You watched as he moved to a corner of the living room where a fully furnished liquor cart stood, complete with various corkscrews and glasses. Chilton set the bottle on the table and selected the appropriate opener.

“This,” he said as he removed the cork, “is a 2011 Quintessa Napa Valley Red. An eight hundred dollar bottle.” His lips turned up in a smirk when he turned to see your eyes had widened. “Believe me, this isn’t nearly the most valuable drink I’ve collected.”

He poured two glasses and passed you one as he made his way to the armchair, the two of you clinking glasses before he sat. Sure enough, the first sip of the wine slid down your throat smoothly and left a delicious after-taste craving for more. Your eyes fluttered shut and you smiled as you savored the taste, your recent doubts distracted by the flavor.

 _Oh yes,_ you thought. _I can definitely get used to this._

When you reopened them, you saw Chilton staring at you, visibly pleased with himself for selecting a wine you enjoyed. As he drank from his own glass, you were reminded of your previous thoughts.

“Um. I shouldn’t be...expecting anyone, should I?” You asked hesitantly.

For some odd reason, Chilton took offense at your question. Whereas before he was finally relaxing in your presence, he now outright glared at you. “I live alone.”

All the theories you had come up with in the past few minutes suddenly all came crumbling down, and you were once more confused at his living arrangements (and current attitude problem). A very long time passed where there was nothing but silence, you staring at Chilton with a worried gaze and he staring at you with something akin to annoyance.

“Are you alright, Dr. Chilton?” You were suddenly worried you made a mistake taking him up on his offer. The man was attractive, yes, and clearly rich, but if he was going to act this uptight the whole night, you’d rather just call a taxi and go home and forget this disaster ever happened. “You seem a bit...tense. If I’m making you uncomfortable, all you have to do is tell me to leave.”

“I am very sorry,” he said after a long beat. “I’m not—It’s not often I have house guests. I do not think I know how to be a proper host.”

Ah, so he was nervous. Or at the very least a bit insecure.

You laughed gently, hoping to diffuse the tension and make him feel more at ease. “Certainly I’m not your first house guest, Dr. Chilton?”

“I—” He became flustered, unsure how to answer and eyes darting to every corner of the room. He finally gave a resigned sigh and lifted his gaze to meet yours. “Yes, you are.”

You blinked in surprise, the smile promptly falling from your face.  _What?_

When you asked him that question, you imagined that he’d give you a sad answer, something along the lines of “No, but you’re only the third,” or “No, but the last guest only got as far as the grand piano before booking it”, but you didn’t _actually_ expect to be his first ever house guest.

Clearing your head of any jumbled thoughts, you asked him, “Then why did you bring me here if you knew I’d make you uncomfortable?”

At this, he physically squirmed in his seat until he seemed to slowly regain control of himself. He squared his shoulders and set his glass on the coffee table, and used his cane to help him stand. “I asked you here because I genuinely wanted to apologize for my behavior. That was no way to react — much less in public — and for that I am sorry.”

Slowly, you set your glass beside his and pushed yourself from your own seat. You moved to stand before him and locked gently eyes with his, your lips curling into a soft smile. “I already told you that it’s fine, Dr. Chilton. All’s forgiven.”

It almost amazed you how easily you were able to lie, and to a psychiatrist no less. What you would give to vent out your real thoughts, to just scream at him: _“Of course it’s not fine, you asshole! You humiliated me and made me cry in front of all those people, and you think a few drinks is gonna atone for that?”_ But instead you played the part that you knew (or at least hoped) would get you into his bed.

“But, Dr. Chilton,” your smile turned slightly teasing and you stepped closer to him, “was that the only reason you invited me?”

“No,” he said softly, and you were close enough to where you felt his breath on your face. Aside from the scent of the red wine, you detected a small hint of mint. Your eyes darted to his lips as he wet them with his tongue. “I—I found you very physically appealing and was hoping to end this night—” he faltered, and you watched before your very eyes as his mask of confidence fell, “not alone.”

“Then why didn’t you say so?” You growled before throwing your arms around his neck and smashing your lips against his.

You felt Chilton tense against you as you pressed your body against his. When your hands went to scratch and tug lightly at the hairs on the back of his neck, he sighed against your lips before kissing back and wrapping his own arms around you, his cane clattering to the floor as it fell. His tongue gently prodded at your lips and he moaned into your mouth when you parted them. Your breathing turned heavy at your make-out session, your hands pulling at his tie and his hands groping your ass.

“I—I haven’t,” Chilton groaned as you nipped and licked at his jaw line. “I haven’t done this in—in a very long time….”

“It doesn’t show.” You sucked and kissed at a spot on his neck until you had made a perfect hickey, but stopped when you felt his hands push you away.

“I mean it,” he panted, hair already a mess and face already flushed. “If we do this, I—I won’t be able to last very long.”

Slowly and without breaking eye contact, you took one of Chilton’s hands and pressed your lips against his knuckles. You turned his hand over and kissed the palm of his hand and one by one sucked each of his fingers into your mouth. You watched as Chilton’s pupils enlarged until there was hardly any green in his eyes, and you watched his chest heave as his breathing increased.

“We don’t need to have sex, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You kissed his palm once more before letting that hand drop to his side, and did the exact same routine to his other hand.

Chilton gulped. “What do you mean?”

Putting on the best coy grin you possibly could, you dropped your hands to his waistband and pulled his hips into yours. You placed your lips against his ear and dragged your teeth across the sensitive skin before growling out, “Let me show you.”

With a groan, all Chilton could manage was a nod. You smirked.

“Bedroom?” you asked.

“Bedroom,” he said, and pulled you by the hand to the stairs leading to the second floor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally make it to Frederick's bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yes. Finally, the smut arrives; even though it's just oral ~~for now~~. But trust me when I say there will be many chapters dedicated solely to it down the line.
> 
> Edit: corrected continuity errors, fixed typos, slight dialogue change.

The trek to Chilton’s bedroom was nothing less than a flurry of kisses and gropings and moans. It was safe to say that by the time you finally reached the bed, Chilton was throbbing in his pants and you were almost dripping down your legs.  
  
You kicked the door closed as soon as you crossed the threshold and pushed Chilton towards the bed until the backs of his knees hit the edge and he landed on his ass. Crawling onto his lap and straddling him, you ground your clothed sex against his erection. A loud whine sounded from his throat and his hands made quick work of removing your dress and throwing it across the room. He kissed at your breasts, still covered by your lace bra, his tongue swirling around your nipples, and you arched your back and ground your hips down harder against his. You had removed Chilton’s jacket and tie somewhere on the staircase, and your fingers were flying across the buttons of his shirt when his hands gripped your wrists in an almost painful hold.  
  
“Ow—Chilton—”  
  
“Frederick,” he corrected, face suddenly nervous and scared. It took a few seconds of staring into those green eyes until you finally remembered his scar. You somehow had actually managed to forget about it during all your foreplay. Ironic, you mused, since the entire confrontation that eventually lead to you and Frederick in his bed was due to that scar.  
  
Although to be honest, the scar didn’t bother you in the slightest; you were far more concerned with getting laid. But you remembered how angry he was at the museum for merely speaking about it. For him, it was clearly a very sensitive topic.  
  
Not that you really cared; after all, you hardly knew him. All Frederick Chilton was to you was a man who shouted at you in public, and in your mind that garnered more dislike and contempt than genuine care. You didn’t forgive a man for publicly humiliating you just because he had a scar he was insecure about.

However, you also knew that if you wanted to try and still get something out of this night other than emotional baggage, you’d have to at least act as if you did care.  
  
“Oh god,” you dug the heels of your hands into your eyes. “Oh god, I’m so stupid. Frederick, I’m so sorry, I swear to god I completely forgot about your scar. God, I’m such an _asshole_!”  
  
“Hey.” Frederick gently pulled your hands from your face, only for you to avoid his gaze. He called your name. “Look at me.” You did as he said, if only for the sole reason that it was the first time he actually used your name. “It’s fine. Like I said, I am perfectly content with nothing happening.” He smiled but it was clear that it was forced. “If you want, I can take you home.”  
  
And now he was kicking you out. Fan-fucking-tastic.  
  
Still in character and trying to not let your irritation show, your shoulders sagged and you sighed, sliding off Frederick’s legs and searching for your dress. “Yeah, okay. I understand. I’d kick me out, too, if I was in your position.”  
  
The grip on your wrist prevented you from continuing your search. You turned your gaze back to him and saw his brow furrowed. “You think I’m kicking you out?”  
  
You blinked, genuinely confused. “Aren’t you?”  
  
Frederick shook his head vehemently. “No! No, of course not! It’s just—” He bit his lip and a shadow passed over his face. Wait, was that...apprehension? “Like I said, I haven’t been with a woman in a long, long time. And it’s not just the scar I’m worried about, I—I am afraid that I won’t perform well, that I won’t last long enough for you. That you will find me...inadequate.”  
  
You stared down into those large green eyes and at how they were looking up at you, begging you to stay, to understand. _Wow, congratulations,_ your conscience snapped. _Now you really **are** an asshole._  
  
Pulling your hand from his grip, you cupped his face in your hands. Your thumbs gently stroked his cheeks and Frederick let out a shuddering sigh, resting his hands so gently on your hips you hardly noticed. Tilting your head, you pressed your lips against his in a series of feather-light kisses, the previous fervor replaced with something much more gentle.  
  
Your lips barely touching, they moved against his as you finally spoke. “How about I show you exactly what I was talking about downstairs?” You waited a few seconds for his nod before moving your hands to undo his belt, letting it drop to the floor once you got it off and turning your attention to his pants.  
  
Without your hands to support him, his head fell forward until his forehead was resting against your shoulder and you shuddered at each puff of hot breath that hit your skin as he panted. You moved your lips to kiss at his cheek, his eyes, his forehead until finally the sound of you successfully unzipping his pants broke the near-silence of the room.  
  
With only a bit of pushing to show your intentions, you were able to get Frederick completely on the bed. And he certainly made one hell of a sight.  
  
As you crawled your way over to him, your eyes raked over his messy hair and flushed cheeks, his tongue that continuously poked out to wet his lips, his heaving chest straining against his shirt so much that you were able to see a faint outline of his scar.  
  
If you hadn’t been aroused before, you definitely were now.  
  
Worried that any more blatant staring would make him uncomfortable, you grabbed the waistband of his pants and told him to lift his hips. He did so, making his erection even more prominent than it already was, and you dragged the clothing off his legs until he was left in only a pair of black cotton briefs. It wasn’t until you hooked your fingers under the elastic band that Frederick twitched.  
  
“Wait,” he gasped and you stilled your hands instantly. “I—you said—what are you—?”  
  
Your hands moved down to rub at his thighs in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. “Relax,” you said and squeezed lightly. “When was the last time you touched yourself, Frederick?”  
  
Beneath your hands you felt his muscles tense, clearly unsettled by your question, but you didn’t miss the way his dick twitched at the sound of his name. “What…? What does that have anything to do with—?”  
  
“You said you were worried about not lasting long, right? That it’d been a long time since you had sex?” Your hands continued working at his legs until you felt the muscles gradually relax. “If you don’t masturbate often, it’s likely you have too much pent up frustration; that would make you wired and set you off with even the slightest touch.”  
  
Frederick gulped and shifted his eyes to literally anyway but your way. “I—no. No, I do not...touch myself often.”  
  
You smiled softly at him despite his gaze still not on you. “You should masturbate at least three times a week, Frederick. Being a doctor, you’d think you’d know how beneficial it is to your health.”  
  
He sent an offended glare your way and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course I am aware of the benefits. It’s just,” his expression shifted and his eyes fell from your gaze. “One’s hand can only do so much, and...you are the first woman to even look at me in a long time.”  
  
There was a moment of silence and your hands stilled on his thighs, then: “What about a mouth?”  
  
His jaw dropped with an audible gasp. “ _What?_ ”  
  
You moved your hands back up to grip at his hips, all the while keeping your gaze on his face. “What if I suck you off? You’re right that you won’t last long this time, but once you’re satisfied, you’ll be able to last much longer for next time.”  
  
“ _‘Next time?’_ ” he croaked, but you saw the astonished look on his face, the unbelievable reality that after all the excuses he put you through you’d still want him enough for there to even be a next time.  
  
Without even realizing it himself, Frederick gave you a quick nod and his breath hitched as your fingers dug beneath his waistband. When you started pulling at the fabric, he automatically lifted his hips until the briefs were at his knees. His hips dropped unceremoniously onto the bed and he hissed and clenched his eyes shut as the cold air hit his dick.  
  
Once his briefs were off and flung over your shoulder, you crawled until you were even with his face and pressed your mouth hotly against his. You slipped a leg between his own as your tongue poked at his lips, and Frederick moaned and opened his mouth to you as he bucked his hips and humped your thigh. You felt the smear of precum on your skin and groaned. Pulling back, you stilled his hips and kissed his forehead in an attempt to cool him down. He whimpered and grasped your arms when you started to pull away.  
  
“It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere,” you cooed into his ear. “Let’s just take it slow so you can enjoy this.” You weren’t sure when exactly you went from not-really-caring-about-Frederick to purposefully-taking-it-slow-so-that-he-could-derive-as-much-enjoyment-as-possible, but you suddenly found yourself legitimately wanting to please him rather than just seeing it as a necessity. You blamed the puppy eyes.  
  
A gulp and a nod was your only response from the man beneath you. When Frederick’s hands hesitated when he moved to unbutton the rest of his shirt, you pecked his forehead. “It’s okay. You don’t have to take your shirt off if you don’t want to. If you want, we can just unbutton the first few, but only if you want to.” He quickly turned his head to the side but you still caught a glimpse of the tears hanging off his eyelashes. Knowing you’d only make it worse if you mentioned it, you pretended to not notice and kissed your way down his jaw line, tracing the outline of his beard with your tongue and moving your lips to resume sucking at your previous hickey. Your fingers slowly undid the first three buttons, exposing his hairy chest but successfully hiding everything from his sternum and below.  
  
He sighed and ran his hands through your hair before sliding down your spine and groping at your ass. Pulling your hips down to meet his, Frederick apparently heeded your advice as, rather than frantically bucking against you, he simply ground your pelvises together excruciatingly slow. You groaned against his neck when you felt the heat of his cock rub against your cunt. Your hands finding leverage against his chest, you felt his heartbeat thrum against your fingers as you tugged lightly on his curls and knew that, despite how much he wanted to, Frederick would not last much longer.  
  
Sliding yourself down his body, you could see the very end of his scar, less than an inch of a straight pale line down the center of his abdomen poking from beneath the crumpled hem of his shirt. You felt something stir within you at the sight, at the thought of what horrors this man obviously endured, and softly kissed the slightly raised skin. When your eyes flicked up to gauge Frederick’s reaction and saw that he was watching you, watching but making no move to stop, you parted your lips to tongue gently at his exposed scar. Your eyes remained open as you continued to watch Frederick watch you, and your eyes darkened at the sight of his jaw dropping and the sounds of his long groans and heavy pants filling the air. Once you teased him enough, you spread his thighs with your hands and settled yourself in the space between them.  
  
At the sight of his cock, you felt your mouth water. He was large — thicker and longer than any other man you’d fucked — and when you wrapped your hand around the base, he was pulsing and hot. The small groan you let out was easily drowned out by Frederick’s loud moan, and you started to slowly work your hand along the shaft.  
  
“Oh—oh, god,” he gasped.  
  
Your eyes glued to his face, you kept fisting his cock at the same slow speed. “How long has it been since you’ve had a hand other than your own touch you like this?”  
  
“Years.” He let out a shaky breath and your name passed his lips in nothing more than a whisper. “Please—I—I need— _please_ —”  
  
Letting out a pleased hum at the sound of this very rich and powerful man begging for you, you brought your face closer to his dick and started kissing up and down the shaft. You payed special attention to a prominent (and sensitive, if Frederick’s noises were anything to go by) vein on the underside of his cock and you licked and sucked on it eagerly. It wasn’t until his hands pulled at your hair that you finally spread your lips over the head of his cock and sank down, relaxing your throat muscles as you went. The moment you finished taking in as much as you could, you wrapped your lips around the shaft and hallowed your cheeks before swallowing around him.  
  
He throbbed in your mouth and his breath hitched as he gasped and moaned, squirming beneath you in what must have been an overload of pleasure he hadn’t felt in a long time. Using your hand to squeeze and stroke what you couldn’t fit into your mouth, you began bobbing your head up and down his cock. With only a few flicks of your tongue along the slit, Frederick cried out a warning before he came down your throat.  
  
You felt him spill onto your tongue and kept stroking him with one hand, the other squeezing his balls as you milked him to the last drop. Once you heard him whine at the overstimulation, you let his softening cock slip from your mouth, careful not to spill any of his seed. Tapping a finger against his thigh, you made sure his eyes were locked with yours as you swallowed every last drop of him, obscenely moaning and smacking your lips as you did.  
  
Frederick threw his arm over his eyes and whimpered. “You’re going to be the death of me.”  
  
Humming, you checked to see that you licked away everything before crawling back up to him, pressing your body against his side and kissing him. This time Frederick took initiative and he was the one who slipped his tongue past your lips. He made a full sweep of your mouth and moaned at the lingering taste of himself. You moved your hand to his scar, slowly so he was aware of your intentions, before gently rubbing through the shirt and giving him a light, impromptu massage with your fingers. Frederick moaned again and pressed harder against your mouth, enough to make your teeth clack, but rather than be turned off you found yourself delighted by his eagerness. You rubbed your thighs together in the chance that it’d alleviate some pressure as your hand moved over his soft belly and to his exposed chest, where you ran your hand through the dark hair and lightly pulled and played with the curls.  
  
After a long moment of languid kissing, you pulled back and ran your hand up through his hair, laughing as he purred beneath your touch. You were about to ask him if he was going to return the favor or if you had to finish off yourself when he beat you to the punch.  
  
Without a word, Frederick moved to hover over you and propped himself on his arms, caging you within them. And all with a blush on his face. Honestly, how a grown man could be so shy after ejaculating into a person’s mouth was something you’d never wrap your head around — but you had to admit that the flush on his face and neck was simultaneously adorable and arousing.  
  
You turned your head to the side and pressed your lips to his bicep and you watched as his eyes softened with sentiment.  
  
He decided to first work on your neck, just as you had. He pressed soft pecks along your jawline and down your throat, but it was obvious he was still hesitant. Hoping to give him an ego boost, you began panting and moaning excessively, arching your back to press your breasts against his chest. It appeared to have worked for in the next instant you felt Frederick’s lips at the soft spot behind your ear and you moaned (honestly this time) as he licked and sucked at the skin. After a few seconds of that continuous beautiful sensation, he parted the hair there with his fingers and grinned at the dark mark he left behind.  
  
You pulled at his hair to let him know to keep going.  
  
Chuckling and gaining in confidence, he placed a large hand on your right breast, squeezing and molding the flesh, as he ducked his head down to your left breast to tongue and suck at your lace-covered nipple. He hummed in satisfaction when he felt it harden instantly, and soon you felt his hands groping at your back until your bra was undone. He pulled the straps down your arms and tossed the bra behind his back before resuming his previous actions, moaning into your left breast at the feel of unobstructed flesh. He switched sides, mouthing at your right breast and tweaking your left nipple with his fingers, before moving further down your body.  
  
He licked his way down your sternum, leaving an occasional nip here and a suck there until you were sure your body would be covered in hickeys and beard scratch marks in the morning, and you moaned at the feel of his lips everywhere on you.  
  
All too soon (though at the same time, not soon enough) he reached the edge of your thong and licked a straight line following the lace waistband. By this point you were squirming beneath him and clutching at the silk sheets beneath you in desperation. You had waited the whole night for this and he was making you wait even more, and though on one hand you wanted to shove his head between your legs and ride his face until you came, you also wanted to let Frederick take his time because, yes, this was torture of the sweetest kind, but fuck if it also wasn’t positively amazing.  
  
You whined his name when he started to rub you through the soaked cloth and bucked your hips when he pressed against your slit. The material scratched but combined with the feeling of Frederick’s long fingers, you felt like you were in paradise, kept in a suspended animation of pain and pleasure.  
  
It felt as if days had passed when Frederick finally ceased his movements and instead started pulling off your thong. It slipped off easily once you lifted your hips, and you almost fainted at the erotic sight of Frederick Chilton laying between your thighs. You groaned and bucked your hips at him and he only laughed at your desperation.  
  
Bringing his face closer to your pussy, he shifted both your legs and placed them over his shoulders and used his thumbs to part your folds. He let out a loud and drawn-out moan at the sight of your dripping cunt. Then his mouth was on you and you cried and threw back your head. He sucked at your outer lips and teasingly dipped only the tip of one finger inside you. When his teeth nipped lightly at your clit, you gasped and the slight sting made your thighs clench tightly around his head.  
  
“Oh, god, Frederick,” you breathed, and he moaned pleasingly against you at the sound of his name on your lips and you shuddered at the vibrations.  
  
He moved his mouth directly to your slit (god you could get addicted solely to the way his beard scratched against your thighs every time he moved), covered it with his lips, and gave one long suck. Your hips bucked and Frederick laid his arm across your pelvis to keep you still, and sucked again. The obscene noises he made — his moans and groans and panting after every swallow — was more than enough to set your heart racing. With his unoccupied hand, Frederick trailed it all the way up your body until he settled on fondling your breast. He cupped and pinched and tweaked at the flesh, meanwhile his tongue finally joined in on the fun farther down and was slowly fucking you. After every other thrust of his tongue, he’d lap at you and make a show of collecting any drop of your juices that escaped his mouth.  
  
“Oh god, you taste so good,” Frederick groaned your name against you and you _felt_ more than heard him say it, and he gripped your hips and pulled you closer to him, burying his face between your thighs until all you could see was his hair. He was eating you out in every sense of the word, as if he was physically trying to drown himself in your essence and devouring you from the inside out.  
  
He started licking you faster, switching from tongue fucking you to lapping at you to sucking on your clit. You were panting and your chest heaved and you were almost positive you were having a heart attack, but god, you didn’t care. All that mattered was Frederick and his mouth, Frederick and his tongue, Frederick and his beautifully large hands—  
  
As if hearing your thoughts, Frederick focused his mouth to licking and sucking your clit as his hand came down to your cunt and he finally pushed in two fingers. Your thighs clenched again and your hands flew to his hair as your hips bucked and you fucked yourself on his hand. Your mouth dropped open and your head flew back and you tried to say “more” but your voice gave out, so you whined and groaned and bucked harder against him.  
  
Soon two fingers became three, and three became four, and suddenly Frederick pulled his face away from you, his thumb quickly replacing his mouth to work on that bundle of nerves, and he stroked and pumped harder and faster and fixed his gaze solely on your face as he watched you start to come undone.  
  
“Look at me,” he panted, and you were unsure how you heard him over the sound of your gasps and moans and blood rushing through your ears but you did, and you moved your head until your eyes locked with that beautiful shade of green and you were positive that in all your life you were never looked at like that. The fact that his beard glistened with your juices was an added bonus.  
  
His long fingers rubbed and stroked your vaginal walls as his thumb circled your clit, and you had no doubt that he could easily reach your g-spot if he wanted to (although with this much pleasure already, you doubted if it was even necessary to get you off).  
  
You felt Frederick move up to your chest where his mouth tongued at the valley between your breasts, all the while his fingers kept fucking you with that same urgency. He moved his mouth to engulf your left breast as his unoccupied hand squeezed the other. He sucked your nipple into his mouth, his teeth lightly grazing the hard flesh, and flicked his tongue back and forth over it. Your hands still clutching his hair, they started to run through the soft locks, and if it wasn’t for the overwhelming pleasure you were experiencing you would have laughed at the moan he released, the second moan he released that night that was due to petting his hair.  
  
You felt yourself getting so close, felt the fire in your lower belly rising to almost unbearable heights, and you roughly pulled Frederick’s hair and tilted his head back to meet your gaze. He let out a short gasp, but any protest died on his lips at the look you were giving him.  
  
“Please, Frederick, _please_.” You ground your hips harder onto his hand, trying to show your desperation. “I’m so _close_.”  
  
Keeping your gazes locked, Frederick twisted his hand only slightly, changed the angle of his thrusts by a mere fraction, and the next time his fingers buried themselves within you, they stroked the erogenous zone only a handful of men have been able to find in your lifetime, and you instantly came undone. You clenched around his fingers so tightly it felt as if they had melded with you, and despite your attempts to keep your watering eyes on Frederick, your head flew back and your mouth tore itself open to let out a scream, the first time you had ever actually screamed during sex. His name fell from your lips like a prayer as your orgasm flowed over you, and still Frederick kept moving his fingers over your g-spot, prolonging it for what felt like centuries.  
  
When you finally slumped against the sheets, your body shaking with after-shocks, Frederick slowly removed one finger at a time and you groaned at how sensitive you were. Four fingers was generally a lot for you (then again, you doubt you’ve ever been this wet before), and Frederick’s fingers were much bigger than average, but _my god_ you didn’t regret it at all. Although the morning after might greet you with a completely different attitude.  
  
Still in your post-coital bliss, you didn’t even notice Frederick leave the bed until he came back with a warm damp towel. Gingerly, he spread open your folds and cleaned all of you, even lifting your completely limp legs to wipe at the backs of your thighs.  You lazily moved your head to watch him, noticing how quiet he was during your after-care.  
  
“Hey,” you croaked, blushing at your embarrassingly hoarse voice. “Is...is everything okay?”  
  
“Mm?” Frederick looked up after he had sufficiently wiped you down. “Oh, yes. Of course.” His voice was very casual and gave you no reason to suspect he was lying, but the fact that he made it a point to avoid your gaze very clearly said otherwise.  
  
“Umm.” Your arms shook as you pushed yourself up against the headboard and tried to decode his thought process. “If you...if you don’t want me here, I can leave.”  
  
“What?” This time Frederick did look at you, and despite having just fucked within the last five minutes, his gaze made you feel very exposed and vulnerable.  
  
“I’ll call a taxi, it’s no problem….” You shrugged and suddenly it was you who was unable to look at him. You crossed your arms over your breasts and stared at your knees. “No hard feelings. Really.”  
  
A heavy silence hung between the two of you, and Frederick’s response did nothing to ease it. “Do...do you want to leave?”  
  
Slowly, you lifted your head and saw him sitting at the edge of the bed, the hair on his head a complete mess as he stared at his feet, and it suddenly occurred to you that this was a man who didn’t normally do this. You had taken his awkwardness as an affront against you personally, when in reality he simply had no idea what to do next. You wanted to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder at least, but scrapped that idea due to the fact that it’d probably make him even more uncomfortable than he already was.  
  
“I can leave if you want me to,” you said slowly, your gaze on him steady, “but, if it’s no trouble, I would like to stay.”  
  
You watched as Frederick’s hunched back straightened before slowly twisting his torso to meet your gaze. “Really?” His voice was high and perhaps even a bit apprehensive, but you saw a spark of something in those green eyes and you liked to think it was hope.  
  
Your lips curled into a gentle smile, and for some reason you felt your heart warm at the sight of him. “Really.”  
  
His eyes widened at you for a brief second before the beginnings of a smile worked its way onto his face. “Very well, then.”  
  
While he left to discard the dirty towel in his hamper, he asked if you needed something — water, clothes, anything.  
  
“Only you,” you said, and grinned coyly when he became visibly flustered. You were shocked that this was the same man who only moments ago tried to eat out your very being and finger-fucked you ‘til you saw stars.  
  
You weren’t a big cuddler when it came to one-night stands, but when Frederick finally slid into bed beside you and you felt him shift uncomfortable every few seconds, you settled on making the first move and tucking yourself into his side. He had finally removed his shirt and you relished in the warmth his skin gave off. Your hand wrapped around his middle and, although at first he tensed when he felt your hand make direct contact with his skin and gently massage his scar, he gave a content sigh and relaxed against you. He followed by turning onto his side and resting his head against your chest, quickly lulled to sleep by the sound of your heartbeat.  
  
Smiling down at his affectionate display, you followed Frederick into sleep soon after, with one hand trailing along his spine and the other running through his hair.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Groans into hands]  
> This is so horrible, I'm so sorry. Normally I'd never post something I'm not at least 80% happy with, but my mind just didn't want to cooperate with this chapter and I was actually starting to seriously dislike this fic (plus the last time I update was over a month ago and that's not cool to you guys).
> 
> The next chapter is already heavily outlined so it shouldn't be too long before that's up.
> 
> As consolation, have [the songs that inspired this trashy fic](http://8tracks.com/roarofthemanticore/gimme-them-coins) in the first place.

You woke up the next morning to find yourself alone in Frederick’s large bed, the sunlight shining through his thin curtains and falling on your face. You groaned and stretched, basking in the feel of the silk sheets before forcing yourself to check the clock on the nightstand: 9:13AM.

So Frederick was an early-riser; that sucked. Or it could be that he just didn’t want to see you; that also sucked.

Letting out a sigh, you forced yourself to sit up and scanned the room for your clothes. You found your dress flung across the floor beside the dresser and your thong hanging off one of its corners as if for dear life. Wincing at the soreness between your legs as you forced yourself to stand, you remembered last night in vivid detail and your face flushed when you recalled how many of Frederick’s fingers you had taken. A pleasurable twinge shot through you at the memory of how he made you feel and, with a grin, you found yourself _still_ not regretting how much he had stretched you.

Your feet padded silently as you made your way to them only for you to wrinkle your nose at the sight. Your panties were ruined and completely unwearable, there was no way you were even thinking of putting them on. Your dress was no better off; you found a tear in the fabric going right up the side, and you were unsure whether it was from Frederick ripping the dress off of you or if it had snagged on a corner. Either way, you weren’t wearing that either.

With an indignant huff, you rummaged through a few drawers until you found one of Frederick’s black cotton undershirts and threw that on. It just barely managed to cover your ass, but it was the best you could do. The cotton was soft against your skin, though, and it smelled vaguely of him. Not, you admitted with a small grin, an entirely unpleasant smell. Your feet cold from the tile floor, you returned to the sock drawer you previously found and slipped on a pair of grey cashmere socks. They were a bit large, but that made them all the more comfortable. You curled your toes as they warmed and sighed blissfully.

Off to find Frederick, you made your way down the spiral stairs and followed the scent of freshly-brewed coffee. As you neared the kitchen, your footsteps muted thanks to the socks, you heard a faint voice echo across the quiet halls. The voice was low and muffled and the little that you could catch was broken, but it was enough for you to realize the language wasn’t English and...actually, now that you were closer, didn’t that sound an awful lot like Frederick?

 _Of course it’s Frederick,_ you mentally chided yourself. _Who else would it be?_ But the surprise of realizing Frederick spoke another language had caught you off guard, and your suspicions were finally confirmed when you entered the kitchen to see him fully dressed and standing before the sink with his cane leaning against the counter as he spoke into his phone.

You lightly scrunched your nose; who was fully dressed before nine in the morning on a Saturday?

Frederick had his back to you, facing the large windows overlooking his patio but his gaze somewhere farther away, and so he jumped when you wrapped your arms around his waist. He was tense and both his hand around the phone and his hand gripping the counter were tightly clenched, and you felt how stiff his back was when you pressed yourself to him. You nuzzled your face between his shoulders and you grinned when you felt his muscles relax. Pressing your hands against his abdomen, you massaged his scar with your fingers just as you did last night. Frederick sighed and moved his phone away from his mouth so that whoever he was speaking to wouldn’t hear.

From your end, you caught a small rapid voice spewing out one thing after another through the phone, too faint for you to make out anything more than gibberish but the tone made it clear that they were angry. It sounded like a woman.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Frederick finally snapped in a heavy accent once there was a pause on the other line. “Ya...te vemos en unas semanas...si, ya...ya te dije...okay….” A heavy blush rose on his cheeks as the woman replied, and you quirked an eyebrow at his reaction. “Yo también...besos,” he mumbled before quickly hanging up and letting out a heavy sigh.

There was a brief moment of silence where you stared questioningly at Frederick and he basked in the relief of having finished his conversation.

“So,” you drawled, carefully keeping any accusatory tone out of your voice. “Who was that?” Really hoping it wasn’t a wife or girlfriend, you pushed down the very real possibility that Frederick may have lied to you last night about being single just to get you into bed. You recalled a few friends telling stories about sleeping with men who said they were single, only for them to later discover that their partner had merely been out of town. You bit your lip and prayed that you hadn’t made a very big, very stupid mistake last night.

“On the phone?” Frederick asked as he turned in your arms and wrapped his own around your waist, already much less awkward with you than the previous night.

You rolled your eyes. “No, the person in your closet that watched you eat me out last night.” He blushed instantly but you caught the smirk pulling at his lips.

“That was my mother,” he said as his hands slipped beneath your shirt to rub at your hips. “She called right as I made coffee. I was going to wake you as soon as I finished speaking with her, but...well. I had forgotten how much my mother enjoyed hearing the sound of her voice.”

“Don’t be mean,” you lightly chided, moving your arms to wrap around his neck. “I had no idea you spoke Spanish.”

It was Frederick’s turn to quirk an eyebrow as he gazed down at you humorlessly. “Because I don’t look like it?”

“No, I didn’t mean that. I just assumed by your last name.”

He hummed and pulled until your body pressed against his. The wool of his suit tickled your thighs. “My father was American, my mother from Cuba,” he clarified. “She took his last name when they were married.” His hands wandered to your rear and he groaned appreciatively when he felt bare skin. He tilted his head down and slowly kissed and sucked at your neck as his hands molded the globes of your ass.

You sighed beneath his ministrations, turning your head to give him more space and lightly scratching at the back of his neck. “What did your mother talk to you about?”

As if he had been shocked, Frederick ceased his movements immediately and tensed. He gripped your shoulders and pushed you back until you were at arm’s length. He drew his shoulders back and puffed out his chest, but when you glanced at his face you noticed he wouldn’t look at you.

Wondering if you had crossed a line, you were quick to apologize. “I’m sorry, that was too personal, wasn’t it? Plus it was stupid of me to talk about your mother while you were—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, still refusing to meet your gaze. “I just wanted for us to eat before—before discussing it.”

“Oh.” _Okay…?_ “That’s fine. Umm—” You turned to look for plates and silverware only to see that the dining table was already set and loaded with food.

“Uh, yes, this way.” Frederick steered you with a hand on the small of your back, his other hand on his cane, and your mouth watered at the smell of coffee and fresh bread.

He pulled out your chair before sitting in his, and your eyes raked over the table. There was seasonal fruit in a large bowl, a basket filled with various fresh bread, mugs of hot coffee with cream and sugar, glasses of orange juice, and small dishes with jam and butter. Everything save for the utensils was made of glass, and panic set in that you — someone completely accustomed to eating out of carton and styrofoam takeout boxes and therefore not at all fazed if you happened to drop anything — would most certainly break something.

After Frederick picked off a sliced croissant and spread a thin layer of jam down the middle, you busied yourself with adding a small splash of cream to your coffee. You stirred until the black turned to a dark brown and lifted the mug to your nose, savoring the scent of coffee in the morning. As you took a sip, your eyes fluttered shut at the very faint hint of sweetness beneath the overall bitterness and you sighed in bliss, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips. Whatever brand this was, it had Nescáfe’s instant coffee easily beat.

After a few seconds of basking in the taste, you opened your eyes to see Frederick gazing at you with his own soft smile. As soon as he noticed you caught on to his staring, his face reddened and he quickly turned his head away and shoved the croissant in his mouth.

“So, what was it that you wanted to discuss with me?” You asked once the both of you were halfway done with your breakfast. You had finished your fruit and were reaching for a scone when you noticed the lack of reply. You looked up to find Frederick visibly fidgeting in his seat.

“Yes, well—you see—” he coughed into his hand and cleared his throat, and a sudden shift fell over him. Frederick squared his shoulders and laced his hands together on the table, looking like a perfect businessman in his suit while you sat there in his shirt sans underwear. “My mother called me this morning saying that she would come visit in two week’s time, which would be the first time my mother ever set foot in this house.”

You couldn’t help the surprise in your voice. “Your mother’s never visited you?”

“She never showed any interest,” he shrugged. “My brother was always the favorite of us two.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “You have a brother?”

“A lawyer in New York — it doesn’t matter,” he waved his hand. “The point is my mother will be visiting in two week’s because I told her that I recently became engaged.”

“Oh no,” you felt as if a pit had just opened up in your stomach. “Please tell me you don’t have a fiancée that’s out of town for the time being.”

Frederick only looked at you as if you had grown a second head before replying, “No, of course not.”

“Oh thank god,” you sighed and set a hand over your racing heart. You had just dodged an enormous bullet.

“I told you last night that I was single for an extended amount of time.”

“Yeah, but you could have easily lied and— _wait_.” You furrowed your brows. “If you don’t have a fiancée, then why did you tell your mother you’re engaged.”

His composed visage faltered slightly, cringing at your words and fumbling lightly with his thumbs. “That was...an error on my part. A few weeks ago my mother called and asked if I was finally in a relationship — she made it a point to call every month, you see — and that day I might have snapped and told her that I recently proposed. In my frustration, I thought saying so would finally rid me of her pestering since, as I said, she favored my brother, only to fail to consider that telling her I was engaged would only make her _more_ interested in my personal life.”

“Well that’s kind of obvious,” you mumbled and a sharp glare was sent your way. “I’m serious! I mean, she might not outwardly show how much she cares, but she’s still your mother; you’re still her son. It’s a no-brainer that she’d be interested that her son’s engaged.”

Frederick’s brow twitched and he leaned back in his seat. “Yes, well...regardless, she is visiting in a few weeks to meet my non-existent intended. You can see how that creates a slight problem.”

“Yeah. _‘Slight.’_ ” You took a long drink from your mug. You had a feeling you knew what he was going to ask, and, if you were right, you wanted to delay the inevitable as long as possible.

Seeing that you refused to say anything else, Frederick sighed and leaned in, his arms firmly on the table. “What I’m asking is for you to act as my partner until after my mother leaves. She’ll arrive, we’ll pretend to be a happy couple, and once she’s gone you’ll be free to leave. Of course, I’d reimburse you for your trouble and anything else you’d ask of me.”

“You’re fucking joking,” you snorted and shook your head. “You’re insane.”

“No,” he glared hotly at you, “I oversee insane people. I run an entire hospital _filled_ with insane people. If you think I am insane, you clearly have no concept of the word.”

You flinched at the tone of his voice and stared down at your lap. So maybe “insane” hadn’t been the right word, but what Frederick was asking of you was still ludicrous. Who just asks someone to lie to their family and pretend to be their fiancée in such an offhanded manner?

Frederick let out a heavy sigh before gently calling your name and locking eyes with you. “I know I am asking a lot of you; it’s not something one instantly agrees to. But I need you. You are the only one who can do this for me aside from a paid professional, but I’m asking you because I believe we both have something to profit from this and, given the events of last night, there is at least some small semblance of trust between us.”

 _Profit?_ You frowned. Was this nothing more than a business deal for him? Did he really have so little morals that he didn’t see the problem with this set-up? And yet….

 _Profit_ , he said….

“What makes you think I’ll profit from this?” You ask slowly.

“It’s my belief that you’re in a position where you’re not financially stable. Your...apartment complex isn’t one that I assume you’d live in unless you specifically had to.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You assumed I was poor because of the building I live in?”

“Of course.”

 _Rude_ , you scowled. “It’s not _that_ bad,” you grumbled into your mug as you took another sip of coffee.

Frederick’s immaculately raised eyebrow was more than enough to call out your bullshit.

“Okay, okay, so I occasionally wake up to find a cockroach in my kitchen — it’s no big deal.”

“I’d beg to differ,” he grimaced, reaching out and downing the last of his coffee in one gulp. “But, regardless, I will still provide you with a weekly salary I am sure you will appreciate. Should you accept this offer, of course.”

“And how much would that salary be?”

“As much as you request.”

Without thinking, you blurted out the first amount that came to mind. “One thousand a week.”

“Very well,” Frederick said without batting an eye.

“Wait, _what?_ ” You screamed, nearly falling back in your seat. You hadn’t been serious when you tossed out your ridiculously high “price” and were fully expecting him to shake his head and call the whole thing off. The fact that he not only agreed to your request but did it as if it were the most casual thing in the world shocked you to your core.

Frederick gave you an exasperated look before repeating himself. “I said, very well. A thousand dollars a week it is.”

You shook your head. “Frederick, I—that’s too much—there’s no way I could accept that.”

“I do not understand — _you_ were the one who set it.”

“I know I did but—!” You wrung your hands, suddenly feeling extremely overwhelmed as you grasped at straws. Despite always having joked about finding yourself a sugar daddy, now that you were given the opportunity to attain one you had absolutely no idea how to act. “Don’t you know someone who would do this for you as a favor? Without having to pay?”

Frederick’s gaze, which had been so steady and locked with yours the entirety of the conversation, shifted downward to stare at his empty plate. “....No, I do not. I have no friend, no colleague, no associate who would do this for me should I ask them. As I said before, you are...you are the only woman to even look at me in a long time.”

A long silence settled over the both of you, with you staring at Frederick and he staring at his plate. You could hear the birds chirping outside in the patio and the ticking of the clock that hung in the living room, and they almost seemed to be mocking you, reminding you of how much time was passing in the heavy silence.

Finally, you found yourself nodding despite knowing that Frederick couldn’t see. “Yeah...okay….Okay. I accept.”

You had said it so quietly that Frederick wasn’t even sure he had heard correctly. Slowly, his gaze lifted and he stared at you with parted lips and wide eyes, scared that you would jump up and say “Gotcha!” and stroll out the door and take his only chance of success with you. You couldn’t blame him for the touch of incredulity in his voice. “What did you say?”

Taking a deep breath, you drew your shoulders back and locked gazes with him in what you hoped was a look of confidence. “I said okay. I accept your proposal. I’ll be your fiancée.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ya...te vemos en unas semanas...si, ya...ya te dije..._ \- Alright...we'll see you in a few weeks...yes, already...I already told you...
> 
>  _Yo también...besos._ \- Me too...kisses.


End file.
